repeat all the facts to Senator
Duran, of course."

"I'd better be off," Ambly said. "Perhaps I'll see you at the
Governor's tonight?"

"Not me, I'm afraid," Loeffler told him. "The DA and I have a little
problem to work out together. I'll call you both tomorrow about the
press release."

"We can't wait too long," said Duff. "Rumors can be a lot worse than
the truth. Especially about something like this. In fact, I don't see
the point in waiting at all."

"Tomorrow, Bob. Tomorrow," Loeffler promised. "Noon at the latest."

His heavy smile faded as the two visitors closed the door behind them.
With an unthrottled groan, he lowered himself into the chair and
turned his dark gaze upon the senator.

"They think _they_ have troubles," he said.

"And you think _I_ have," Duran returned, seating himself.

"I know _you_ do. Unfortunately I happen to share them to some
extent."

He paused to relight the stub of a cigar, then went on.

"It's a crazy world we live in, Vance. Things change. Sometimes it's
hard for us adults to keep up with it. The kids seem to, though."

Duran tried to appear suavely bored with the other's musings. But in
spite of himself he could sense his gaze becoming intently expectant.
Whatever connection there might be between himself, Ambly, and Duff
completely eluded him. And that elusive connection had aroused his
curiosity.

"Yeah, they keep up with things, all right," Loeffler went on. "And
sometimes they get some pretty big ideas."

He halted, puffed thoughtfully, then barked:

"Remember Mel Skinner's lodge out on that island in Wakataoga Lake?
Big Spanish-style place. Built it for that wife of his he brought back
from Chile or somewhere."

"Yes, I remember it. Molly and I spent a weekend there a couple of
years ago. Why?" the senator asked, realizing more than ever how much
he disliked Sigmund Loeffler. "What are you getting at?"

"Well, the next time you go you'd better take along some sleeping
bags," said Loeffler. "Because the house isn't there anymore."

"Okay," Duran said, strangely anxious. "Let's forget the riddles and
get down to business. What happened to Mel Skinner's hacienda?"

The Attorney General stared at his guest for a moment, before
remarking harshly:

"It got blown up."

"A bomb, you mean?" Duran asked.

"Oh, no, no--nothing so crude as that. This was a guided missile. With
a warhead."

The senator was thinking fast now, but still the pattern eluded him